


Razor

by ForgedObsidian



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: (it's pretty light tho), Body horror tw, Gen, Yondu Lives AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgedObsidian/pseuds/ForgedObsidian
Summary: The journey after Ego takes a toll on the members of the crew that have implants and old scars, and they still don’t know what to expect when they get to Ravager space.





	Razor

“Well, we have a couple of days till we get to Ravager space, so everyone shut up and buckle down,” Rocket said over the intercom, the exasperation in his voice clear.  
  
After what had gone down with Ego, the break was almost welcome. After Stakar had responded to Rocket’s message (“Yondu almost _died_ tryin’ to fix his mistake, helped kill the guy who’s been using kids as tools for who knows how long, and he’s gonna be feeling the effects of prolonged hard vacuum exposure for the next solar cycle, so you idiots better have a damn good excuse to be avoidin’ him after this.”), they had all decided that a quiet flight through empty space was what they all needed. Traveling to Ravager space was something Peter had always wanted to do, but Youdu had never let them go when Peter was still a regular part of his crew.  
  
Now, though, they had an invitation from Ogord himself.  
  
Unfortunately, they hadn’t counted on ever-spontaneous space weather.  
  
The sudden disappearance of an entire planet - no matter the size - had pulled the surrounding gravity fields out of their usual patterns, and the resulting solar winds had dragged all sorts of space junk with them. The pressure in the _Quadrant_ was constantly shifting to adapt to the turbulence outside, and most of them spent several minutes every now and again trying to pop their ears. Groot, being Groot, seemed perfectly fine.  
  
Peter figured out something was going on when Rocket was more snappish than usual.  
  
“I am sorry,” Mantis whispered, shrinking against the wall of the corridor. “I did not mean to touch you.”  
  
Rocket was looking up at her with a vague snarl pulling at the edges of his mouth. “Just watch your step, girlie.”  
  
“Woah, Rocket, no need to be so hostile.” Quil stepped out into the corridor, hands in his pockets and the earbuds of the Zune dangling from his neck.  
  
“Bug-girl here nearly stepped on me! I think that warrants some hostility,” Rocket said, his ears flat against his head.  
  
Peter frowned and waved at Mantis. “Don’t worry, I’ll get this settled.”  
  
The girl nodded, her eyes still downcast as she quickly made her way down to the kitchen. She kept her hands clear of Rocket’s head.  
  
“Alright, you want to explain?” Peter said, arms crossed. “I thought you and Mantis got along.”  
  
“Sure, sure,” Rocket snarked, “I jus’ don’t take to being crowded, Quill. You know that.”  
  
“Yeah, I do, but Mantis doesn’t. What’s going on?” Peter frowned. “Are you hurt, or sick?”  
  
Rocket eyed him up and down, taking a small step back. “Nah, man, it’s the flarkin’ _air pressure_.”  
  
“What’s that got to do with anything?”  
  
Rocket suddenly stiffened and his paws twisted at his sides. “Makes everything hurt.”  
  
“Every what . . .”  
  
_Oh. The implants._  
  
Peter knew about phantom pain, or the way old injuries ache when air pressure changes. Growing up on a Ravager crew had ensured that he had a fair experience with people missing limbs and carrying debilitating scars. For some reason, though, he’d never made that connection with his fellow Guardian.  
  
“How can I help?” He tried to take the concern and sympathy out of his voice, knowing that his friend wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment.  
  
True to form, Rocket bristled. But, strangely enough, he quieted down a moment later and gave a deep sigh. “Just . . . give me space. I’ll be fine once we get to a stable pressure.”  
  
Peter nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll pass it along.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“And we do have some painkillers in the medkit, too.”  
  
“Okay, Quill.” Rocket smirked. “I’m sure I know the contents of every box on this ship better than you, so sush.”  
  
Peter put his hands up in surrender. “Point taken. Hope it eases up soon.”  
  
Rocket shrugged. “It will. And Quill?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“You might want to check on Gamora, too.”

* * *

 

“I’m fine, but thank you for asking.” Gamora was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed.  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Peter said, ducking his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask before. It just never crossed my mind.”  
  
Gamora smiled. “That’s not your fault. Besides,” she fiddled with her hair, “my enhancements are few, and mostly seamless. I’m alright.”  
  
“Well, great, though if you need anything, there’s -”  
  
“Painkillers in the medkit, yes.”  
  
Peter laughed, and patted her on the shoulder.  
  
Gamora gave a sad smile. “Nebula won’t be around much, though.”  
  
“Oh. Does she need anything?”  
  
“No.” Gamora shook her head. “Just to be left alone. I’ll manage her, so just keep away from her if you see her.”  
  
“So won’t, like, kill us all in our sleep, right?”  
  
“Doubtful. She can’t move much.”  
  
Peter nodded, thinking of Nebula’s numerous implants and modifications. _No way that isn’t hurting with all the pressure flux._  
  
“Well, just keep us informed, I guess.” Peter scratched at the back of his head.  
  
“Of course,” Gamora said, walking past him with a gentle touch on his shoulder.

* * *

 

Peter thought that was the end of it. Then he saw Yondu scratching at his neck.  
  
It was a little difficult to spot, but now that Peter had noticed it, Yondu’s actions were hard to ignore. He moved stiffly, like his back was still frozen. His hand was constantly rubbing at the base of his implant, and when Peter was close enough he could see the raw skin, purple from irritation.  
  
While Yondu had mostly recovered from his space exposure, he still needed to sleep under several blankets and make several stops at the infirmary for oxygen therapy, overseen by Gamora or Kraglin. He tired easily, and Peter often caught the Ravager taking quick naps in small corners of the ship.  
  
Peter sidled up to Kraglin, who was checking their coordinates. “So, what’s up with Yondu? He have, like, a rash or something?”  
  
“Whassat?” Kraglin turned, a datapad held in his hands. “Oh, nah. That’s just a thing that bugs him, every now ‘n then.”  
  
“So, it’s not some weird space exposure thing?”  
  
“Nope. Jus’ let him be, and it’ll pass. Eventually.”  
  
Peter didn’t pry any further. It didn’t stop him from wincing whenever he saw Yondu rubbing at his back through his coat, or scratching at the skin around his fin implant. His discomfort didn’t seem to ease, and Peter knew that the captain wasn’t getting much sleep.  
  
Peter decided to try and help, however he could.  
  
He found Yondu sitting down on a step in the cargo area, his coat and scarf discarded to the side. The Centaurian was rubbing his shoulders and scratching his neck, and Peter winced when he saw Yondu break his skin. Dark red blood started welling in the scratch mark.  
  
Peter sat down on the step next to Yondu, sighing when he saw how tired and haggard the older person seemed. Yondu was still rubbing at his spine, only looking over at Peter as a way of greeting.  
  
“Okay, no, lets not do that,” Peter said, reaching out and grabbing Yondu’s hands. There was dark blood caught under the rugged nails.  
  
Yondu didn’t try to pull away, though his eyes clenched closed and a muscle worked in his jaw.  
  
“Geeze, you doofus, what’s the problem?” Peter whispered, gently running a thumb over Yondu’s knuckles. He hadn’t really expected an answer.  
  
“. . . ‘s like it’s still there.” Yondu’s voice was quiet, and it was hard to make out his words behind the ever-present rasp in his throat.  
  
“Like what’s still there?”  
  
“. . . m’ fin.”  
  
Peter’s heart dropped. “Oh.”  
  
It’d taken him a while to figure out what had happened to Yondu. The captain had always worn long sleeves that hid the scars on his wrists, and his scarf often covered the permanent discoloration on his neck. The collar of his coat had always been popped up, hiding the scar that coiled down his skull to disappear under his jacket. There were few other Centaurians roaming the spaceways, but those Peter had seen all sported their trademark organic crest. Yondu’s was metal.  
  
He’d started connecting the dots when he saw how Yondu acted around Kree, hostile and unusually rude.  
  
Then someone had called him “Kree battle fodder,” and Yondu had snapped. He hadn’t used his arrow, going for the direct approach, throwing haymakers and snapping with his pointed teeth. By the time he was done, there hadn’t been much left of the other person. It’d been one of the only times Peter had seen Yondu lose control.  
  
Peter sighed and placed a gentle hand on Yondu’s shoulders. “You can’t scratch at your neck anymore, okay?”  
  
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want, boy.”  
  
Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you to the infirmary. Let me take a look.”  
  
“Fuck no.”  
  
“C’mon,Pops. Let me see if there’s anything I can do. Don’t you want to feel better?” Peter slowly rubbed Yondu’s back, noticing how tense the muscle under his hand was. “Please?”  
  
Yondu hesitated, then sighed. “You’re a pain, you know that?”  
  
Peter grinned. “That’s my job!”  
  
Yondu snorted, then stiffly got to his feet. He held his neck ridged, and his footsteps seemed to pain him.  
  
It took them a while to get down to the infirmary, and several times Peter had to grab Yondu’s hands to keep him from scratching at his neck.  
  
The room was somewhat ramshakle, with one operating table taking up most of the center of the room. Two small cots were pushed up against a wall, with other medical instruments and cabinets spread around the rest of the room. Yondu sank down onto the nearest cot with a grateful sigh.  
  
“Peter, what’s going on?”  
  
Peter turned to see Gamora leaning against the doorway of the infirmary. “Oh, nothing, really.”  
  
“Yondu,” Gamora called, ignoring Peter, “is everything alright?”  
  
“‘M fine, Green.” Yondu waved his hand and tried to smile.  
  
Gamora looked him up and down, an unimpressed look on her face. When she saw the blood coating the side of his neck, though, she shook her head and stepped into the infirmary. “There’s no shame in phantom pain, Udonta.”  
  
Yondu curled his lip, but didn’t say anything in return.  
  
Peter felt his eyes widen. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were acting mellow.”  
  
“Stow it, boy. She’s scarier than you, is all.”  
  
Gamora smiled and made a twisting motion with her fingers. “Take your shirt off.”  
  
Yondu raised his brows. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I like you ‘n all, but not like that.”  
  
She grinned. “Just let me take a look.”  
  
Yondu sighed, but started pulling at his vest and the dark undershirt beneath it. Peter winced when the shirt cleared Yondu’s back, baring his skin to the open air. He heard Gamora hiss behind him.  
  
As he expected, there was a thick scar that trailed from the crown of Yondu’s head and the implant down to just above the small of his back. What he hadn’t expected, though, was the jagged remains of his vertebrae. Peter could see the mutilated spikes pressing up against Yondu’s skin, like a broken bone trying to push itself into the light of day.  
  
Centaurian fins, while mostly held in place by one flexible bone that extends from their foreheads, require further support. Their vertebrae had small extensions, typically starting between the shoulder blades, that helped to support the fin until it tapered off just before the small of the back.  
  
Yondu’s had been sawed off.  
  
There were old lash marks across his back, and several scars that were the clear results of gunfire. A coil of scar tissue wound around his shoulder, eerily matching the laticework of scars that marred his face.  
  
Peter swallowed and reached out, placing one hand on Yondu’s shoulder. “I’m gonna try a heat strip, yeah.”  
  
Yondu grunted, curling in on himself. The muscle on his back twitched, and he snorted under his breath. “You know, getting drunk is usually how I handle this.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you can’t solve everything with alcohol.”  
  
“Ain’t gonna stop me from tryin’.”  
  
Peter rolled his eyes and walked across the room, looking around for the temperature moderators.  
  
“This is an old injury,” Gamora whispered, her hands ghosting over Yondu’s spine.  
  
He grunted. “Couple ‘a decades, yeah.”  
  
“What happened?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.  
  
Yondu shifted, almost like he wanted to duck away from Gamora’s hand. “Lil’ . . . thing. Happened.” He clenched his eyes shut and clasped his hands together.  
  
Gamora blinked, and patted Yondu’s shoulder with a gentle hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”  
  
Yondu shrugged, and winced when the muscle along his spine cramped. “No worries. ‘S not like it was you.”  
  
She nodded, and stepped behind Yondu.  
  
“What’re you doing, girlie?” Yondu tried to twist around to get a look, but had to pull back with a hiss.  
  
“I’m going to touch your shoulders, so try to relax.”  
  
After waiting a moment to see if he voiced any objections, Gamora placed the heels of her hand onto his shoulder blades and started to knead at the grizzled skin. Yondu tensed at her touch, but once warmth started working into the strained muscles he gave a content sigh and started to sag forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  
  
“‘N where’d you learn that?”  
  
Gamora worked a moment longer, her fingers smoothing away tension and ache. “Sometimes, after Thanos had me modified, the doctors would work heat into my muscle to help ease the pain and speed the healing process. I still do it to myself, when I feel poorly.”  
  
“‘S a damn good skill.”  
  
“I have found it useful, yes.”  
  
Then Peter popped up from his corner of the infirmary, a long padded strip held in his hand. “Found it!”  
  
“Put it on now, while his muscle is relaxed,” Gamora directed, stepping away to give Peter room.  
  
Peter hummed under his breath as he gently settled the strip along Yondu’s spine, making sure to click it on. He heard Gamora leave the infirmary, the door closing behind her.  
  
Yondu sighed in relief when warmth started circulating along the heat coil. Peter smiled, then something caught his attention.  
  
There were spiderwebs of scar tissue spread across Yondu’s back, so faint that Peter had to be fairly close to see them. The cuts had been deep, and the way the skin was puckered made Peter think that it had been something with a serrated edge.  
  
“Yondu.” Peter’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “What’s . . . this is from razor wire, isn’t it?”  
  
Yondu went still. “An’ a pair of clippers, yeah. For my spine.”  
  
Peter felt a lump grow in his throat. “I . . . ah, um.” He sighed and patted Yondu’s shoulder. “Why?”  
  
Yondu twitched at Peter’s touch, his head ducking. “Slavers thought it’d catch a fair price.” His voice was quiet, and Peter had to strain to hear Yondu’s words.  
  
When he did, his face fell. “I’m sorry, Pop.”  
  
Yondu shrugged. “I bit off some of their fingers, so it wasn’t a complete loss.” He blinked and shifted on the cot. “What’s a ‘pop,’ anyway?”  
  
Peter smiled, catching the shift in conversation. “It’s a Terran word, means ‘Dad’ or ‘Father,’ but it’s less formal, I guess.”  
  
“Oh.” Yondu sounded surprised. Then he yawned.  
  
“Geeze,” Peter said, a smile in his voice. “Guess old people really do get tired quick.”  
  
“Skeedaddle, you brat.” Yondu swatted at him, but there wasn’t any real force behind it. His eyes were half-lidded, and Peter was fairly certain that his dad would end up takig a nap on the cot.  
  
“Later, you blue grouch,” Peter whispered, patting Yondu’s shoulder before getting to his feet. He heard Yondu grunt in farewell before he left the infirmary, making sure to palm the door closed behind him.  
  
Gamora was waiting, seated on the floor and leaning against the wall. “How is he?”  
  
Peter sighed and sat down next to her. “Better. I think he can sleep now that he’s not feeling so shitty.”  
  
“That’s good.” She leaned over and rested her head on Peter’s shoulder, twining her hand in his. “. . . I didn’t know he had been a slave.” Her voice was quiet.  
  
“Yeah. It took me a while to figure it out, too.” Peter rubbed her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “We’re all a little messed up, for sure. But I think it would help him if he talked about it.”  
  
Gamora blinked and pressed her cheek against Peter’s arm. “For now, just give him time. He’s probably worried about meeting with the other Ravagers.”  
  
Peter nodded. “I suppose I should be happy to be able to talk with him at all.” He sighed and nestled his nose in Gamora’s hair.

* * *

 

When they finally made it to Ravager space the compression pressure had evened out, and everyone was, more or less, back to normal. It was relieving to have Rocket back to throwing around vaguely-insulting quips with an easy grin, and Nebula stalking around in the shadows of the ship in an attempt to avoid everyone. Even Yondu was in better spirits, wearing his coat and walking around the _Quadrant_ with his usual swagger.  
  
Ravager space wasn’t much of anything, truly. Mostly it was made of a variety of old and discarded ships that had been welded together, creating something of a faux-planet in the middle of space. Located in a stable asteroid field, many of the main holds were actually found inside captured space rocks held in place with thick sheets of metal.  
  
When they land, several leaders from the other Ravager factions are waiting for them. Yondu kept his head lowered and his hands away from the Yaka arrow as he walked up to them, Peter and the Guardians not far behind. A man Peter recognized as Stakar Ogord from his shoulder coils stepped forward and threw a solid punch into Yondu’s jaw. It landed with a crack, and Yondu didn’t try to protect himself.  
  
“You’re a dumbass,” Stakar growled, pulling back his fist. “A dumbass, and an idiot, and it’s damn good to have you back.”  
  
Peter would have liked to get a picture of Yondu’s face when Stakar grabbed the Centaurian by his shoulders and into a tight hug. When they separated, Stakar reached out and brushed some grime from the flame stitched into Yondu’s coat. “The council all agrees. You’re back.”  
  
A woman with long black hair was the next. Yondu seemed to be bracing himself for a slap, and his eyes widened when she reached up and ran her fingers against the scars on his face. Then she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead to his, gently cupping the back of his head. “It is good to see you again, you fool.”  
  
Yondu grinned and chuckled, but they all could see the tears welling in his eyes. “‘N you too, Aleta.”  
  
There was a chirp by his elbow, and Yondu turned to see Mainframe held securely in Krugarr’s arm. The Lem waved their hand, a golden circle popping up with a large smiling face in the middle.  
  
Mainframe’s eyes lit up. “It’s so good to see you again!”  
  
Yondu reached out and gave Mainframe a gentle pat, pulling away from Aleta to grip one of Krugarr’s hands in greeting. “You too, ‘bot. Krugarr.”  
  
Krugarr nodded, their eyes squinting in a smile.  
  
A large man grabbed Yondu’s shoulders and picked him up in a crushing hug, a gentle smile on his face. “Hello, old friend!”  
  
Yondu wheezed, his face surprised. “Yup, hi, Charlie. I still gotta breathe, you know.” His hands were flapping at his sides, trying to tap Charlie’s broad arms.  
  
“Eh, squish him a little more,” a nearby Pluvian said, a smirk on his faceted face.  
  
“You know what, Martinex?” Yondu glared, which was somewhat ruined by the smiling Charlie holding him close to his chest. “You can choke on engine exhaust.”  
  
“Stop stealing fucking batteries, you blue moron!” Rocket shouted, leaning over from his perch on Drax’s shoulders to better yell.  
  
“Fuck you, rat!” Yondu shouted back, but he stopped struggling and let himself sag into Charlie’s grip.  
  
The large man chuckled. “It appears that you have found yourself more friends.” He gently placed Yondu back on his feet, resting a massive hand on Yondu’s shoulder. Yondu gave a noncommittal grunt.  
  
“Now, where’s this boy of yours?” Stakar asked, hands on his hips as he looked around.  
  
“Oh, that’s me!” Peter jumped up and down, almost giddy as he walked over to the Ravager captain. “Peter Quill, Star Lord, Guardian of the Galaxy. Nice to meet you.” He held out a hand. “Yondu told me a lot of stories about you when I was with his crew.”  
  
“Did he now?” Stakar raised an eyebrow as he took Peter’s hand and looked over at Yondu, a smile tugging at his lips.  
  
The Centaurian shifted his feet, and his eyes skittered to the ground.  
  
“Yup!” Peter gave a toothy grin.  
  
Stakar looked at him, dark eyes going over his face, and he seemed pleased at what he found. He nodded, gave Peter’s hand a squeeze, and said, “Well, you turned out okay. Surprisingly.” Stakar shot a grin at Yondu.  
  
“You sayin’ something about my parenting skills, Ogord?” Yondu said, walking over and lightly punching Stakar’s shoulder. “I’d like to see you do better, mister divorcee.”  
  
Stakar rolled his eyes and threw an arm around Yondu’s shoulders. He led the Centaurian away from the others, bending to talk directly into Yondu’s ear. “We found a Kree slave route.”  
  
For a moment all Yondu could hear was the clink of rusting chains and the sound of a whip cracking through thick air. The scar on his back twitched, and he shrugged his shoulders deeper into his coat. “Did’ja now?”  
  
( _“You know, the first Ravagers were freedom fighters,” Stakar said, gently working at the chain wound around Yondu’s wrist. “We honor their original wishes whenever we can.”_  
  
_“So that’s why . . .” Yondu coughed, his voice rough from his most recent stint in the fighting pits._  
  
_“Why we attacked the transport, yeah.” Stakar grinned when the chain clicked and slithered off Yondu’s wrist. It fell to the floor with a clatter. “That, and I don’t much hold with slavery, anyhow.” He hissed when he saw the thick welts on Yondu’s skin, worn in from years of being chained and abused._  
  
_“. . . gotcha.”_  
  
_Stakar looked up, seeing the vacant stare in the Centaurian’s eyes. He sighed, and patted at Yondu’s bruised fingers. “You have a choice now, you know. You can go with the others, find a place to be, settle down, get a job. Or,” Stakar raised his finger, a smile on his face, “you stay with us, become a Ravager. Given your skill set, you’d be a good fit.”_ )  
  
“You want in? We hit them in a few days. You ‘n that arrow would be mighty useful.”  
  
Charlie and Drax were laughing and slapping at each other’s shoulders like they had always been friends. Aleta had walked over to Gamora, reaching out to say hello to Groot. The small sapling made a noise of excitement and reached out to run some fingers through the Ravager’s hair. Peter was enthralled with Krugarr, watching as the golden circles by the Lem’s hands flashed as the two of them talked. Rocket was eyeing Mainframe. Kraglin was leaning against the entrance of the Quadrant, a happy twist to his lips. Martinex had sidled up to Mantis and was making quiet conversation. Nebula was, surprisingly, not that far away, leaning on the outer panels of the ship and watching them all with irritation and curiosity.  
  
Yondu grinned, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkle.  
  
“Hell yeah, I’m in.”

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, all I want from a Yondu Lives AU is for him to become a Ravager freedom fighter who regularly screws with the Kree and helps get slaves to freedom.
> 
> I know this is a little all over the place, but it was fun to write, so eh.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
